


Truth or Dare

by peristeronic, vaingloriousactor



Category: Assassins - Sondheim/Weidman
Genre: F/M, Gossip, Middle Aged Characters, Sleepover!, Swearing, Truth or Dare, except actually you're stuck in limbo for the rest of eternity, like a shit ton of it, maybe they'll play seven minutes in heaven next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peristeronic/pseuds/peristeronic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaingloriousactor/pseuds/vaingloriousactor
Summary: Byck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you come in here—without so much as a by-your-leave, I might add, you could’ve knocked or something—to tell me that you want to screw Booth? Because I didn’t fucking need to hear that.”“No!” Moore said. “I came to ask if you’d play truth-or-dare with me.”Byck took a second to ask himself it he’d heard that right. Yes, he had. “I am not playing truth-or-dare with you.”





	Truth or Dare

Moore pushed open the door to Byck’s room, walked in, and plopped herself down on the bed, making the whole mattress shake. His view of the TV suddenly wobbly, Byck turned away from the tiny box with annoyance.

“What’s the big idea?”

“Lynette won’t play truth-or-dare with me,” Moore said, sounding less like a forty-something mother of three and more like a teenager. “I thought we could have some girl time, her and me! And Booth won’t play either. And he won’t play spin the bottle.”

She sighed. 

“You asked Booth to play _spin-the-bottle_ with you?” Byck said.

“Come on, have you seen him?” Moore said.

“You’re old enough to be his mother, for god’s sake.”

“What, just because I’ve got kids, that means I don’t have a libido anymore? You think just because I’m not a spring chicken anymore, I’m not a sexual being?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Byck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you come in here—without so much as a by-your-leave, I might add, you could’ve knocked or something—to tell me that you want to screw Booth? Because I didn’t fucking need to hear that.”

“No!” Moore said. “I came to ask if you’d play truth-or-dare with me.”

Byck took a second to ask himself it he’d heard that right. Yes, he had. “I am not playing truth-or-dare with you.”

“Ah, come on!” Moore said. “You and me, we’re the only adults in this place. We should, y’know, stick together. Get to know each other better.”

Byck considered. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare!”

“I dare you to kiss Guiteau.”

“Oh, god no!” Moore screeched.

“I dare you,” Byck said. 

“Ugh, can’t I have a different one? Literally anything else?” 

“You don’t want to kiss that creepy son of a bitch?” Byck asked with a smirk.

“No! I’ll do truth.”

“You can’t refuse to do a dare,” Byck said. “That’s against the rules.”

“Come onnnnnn, give me a truth,” Moore begged.

>Byck found himself unable to resist the look she was giving him, and he threw up his hands in disgust. “Alright, fine, if we’re just going to throw the rules of civilization out the window… you can do a truth,” Byck said. “Which of your husbands was the best in bed?”

“Oh, Jack, _def_ initely,” Moore said without hesitation. “He was a hunk.” There was a reminiscent, not to say lustful, gleam in her eye.

Byck immediately wished he hadn’t asked that question. He couldn’t say why he didn’t like hearing the answer. But he didn't like it. “Yeah, but you still divorced him. What’d he do? Drink?”

“There’s more to a marriage than sex, you know,” Moore said. “And you can’t ask two questions.”

“Oh, now who cares about the fucking rules?”

“It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth."

“Do you miss your family?” Moore asked.

“That’s not a fair question,” Byck said.

“Do you, though?”

Byck looked at his knees. “I miss my kids, mostly. I haven’t seen ‘em in a long time… Judge didn’t think I was a fit parent. But I’m their dad, for god’s sake. I have a right to see my own goddamn kids. I’m supposed to take care of them. Do all the things dads are supposed to do.”

Moore was silent. “I don’t think I was a very good mom,” she said quietly. “Do you think my kids miss me? Really? Their crazy mom who finally went off the deep end?”

“Of course they miss you,” Byck said gruffly. “You’re their mom. And I don’t believe you were a bad mom, whatever you try to tell me.”

Moore’s ears turned pink. “It’s your turn to ask.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Moore said.

“What’s a guy gotta do to win you over? I mean—” He looked embarrassed, coughed, re-phrased the question. “What do you find attractive in a guy?”

“He’s got to be funny,” Moore said. “He doesn’t have to be… I dunno, clever. I couldn’t keep up with a guy who was a rocket scientist or a Ph.D., you know? But he’s got to be… kind. And care about me and not go chasing after some fake blonde with long legs.” Bitterness crept into her voice.

“Can’t stand guys like that,” Byck said in a low voice. “You’re s’posed to _appreciate_ the woman you’re _with._ Not go chasing tail like you’re a damn dog." And if you were with a woman like Moore… you’d be a lucky bastard, wouldn’t you? You should appreciate her.

“When you get married, you’re supposed to have and to hold, for richer or poorer…” He sighed. “But fuck it, I’m not one to talk. Couldn’t keep _my_ marriage together.” 

“Truth or dare?” Moore asked quickly.

He paused. “Dare.”

“I dare you to sing something."

“I don’t sing.” 

“Sure you do. I hear you grumbling half melodies under your breath all the time. You know, something by what’s-his-face. That guy you sent tapes to. The composer.” 

“Leonard Bernstein?” He arched a brow. 

“Yeah! Him!” She bounced a bit in her spot and fluttered her lashes, eyeshadow long since faded. It never did stay on down there. Up there? Wherever the carnival was. 

“I told you, Moore. I don’t sing.” He protested again and she rolled her eyes. 

“You can’t turn down a dare. Please Sam. Come on, lighten up.” 

The name took him by surprise. It was typical for the assassins to refer to one another by surnames. Only Booth and Fromme ever called each other “Johnny” and “Lynette,” and he couldn't help but wonder what that mostly unstated intimacy was like. 

“Sam. Well, that’s a first." 

“What? It’s your name. We’re playing truth or dare like twelve year olds, figured that means we’re at a point where I can call you Sam.” Her smile broadened. “Now sing. I don’t remember shit about West Side Story. I won’t even know if you get it wrong.” 

What she didn’t tell him was that she knew each and every word. She did not want him to know that she knew he got each of them right. 

Shy was not a word that anyone had ever used to describe Sam Byck, but he was shy now. He averted his eyes and grumbled, searching his mind for a song, and picked one that he thought he could belt with sheer bravado. 

“I feel pretty…” he mumbled before growing stronger. “Oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and bright! And I pity any girl who isn’t me tonight.” He smirked.

Moore laughed and clapped her hands, giving Byck the encouragement to keep going. 

“I feel charming! Oh so charming… It’s alarming how charming I feel! And so pretty that I hardly can believe I’m real!”

Without warning, Moore raised her voice and joined in. “I feel stunning! And entrancing! I feel like running and dancing for joy! For I’m loved by a pretty wonderful boy.”

Byck narrowed his eyes. “Hey. You said you didn’t know West Side Story.”

Moore looked apologetic. “I just wanted to make you feel less shy about singing. I like hearing you sing, Sam.”

“Do you really hear me sing all the time?” Byck asked.

“Only sometimes!” Moore said quickly. “Just little bits here and there. I like hearing it!”

Byck relaxed slightly. “I liked hearing you sing just now.”

“Thank you.” Moore gave a small smile. “I liked singing with you.”

Byck’s face brightened. He liked the sound of that. Singing with you.

“Hey, Sam? I got another truth-or-dare for you.”

He didn’t even mention that this was breaking the rules. “Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss me,” Moore said.

He blinked at her. Didn’t move.

“Yeah? You gonna do it or not?” Moore asked.

He leaned, putting a hand on her knee to steady himself, and kissed her on the lips. When their lips touched he felt like he’d forgotten how to kiss a girl, like he was thirteen years old again and he was kissing the rabbi’s niece at his Bar Mitzvah when the whole lot of the youngsters had ducked away during the party with a bottle of manischewitz. He didn’t want to remember that.

“Either I’m too old to notice or you’re actually good at what you do, but I can’t say I didn’t like that. Glad I dared you.” Moore smiled smugly, clearly proud of herself, trying desperately to brush aside the color that had risen in her cheeks. “You know, now that I know you’re a good kisser, being trapped her for eternity isn’t so bad. Could even get used to it. Anyone ever tell you you’re handsome?”

No one had, in fact, called Byck handsome for God knows how long. Even his ex wife had distanced herself from even looking at him months if not some years before they separated. This was different. Things were different in general now. And Moore had a point. An eternity trapped together didn’t even really seem like entrapment anymore. Emboldened, he cleared his throat and sat up taller, attempting to clasp the ratty red jacket over the beer stained shirt stretched over his stomach. Moore only eyed him attentively--flirty, even.

“Truth or dare,” he said.

“Dare.” Her eyes shot back up to meet his and a knowing smile spread across her face.

“I dare you to fuck me.”


End file.
